


Serious Moonlight

by MooseFeels



Series: Fools [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Deaf Character, Fluff, Hurt Castiel, Oral Sex, Romantic Comedy, deaf!Castiel, nurse!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-15 16:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 8,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseFeels/pseuds/MooseFeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Festival was a bad idea, but maybe it's not all bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

His brother takes him to festivals, because, as he puts it, "You can feel the sound even with your shoes on. You'll wear flip-flops anyway. I'll get your drunk. It'll be divine."

So Castiel rolls his eyes and wears the flip flops and drinks the stale beer and he tries to isolate into just one beat, but there's just so much going on. 

He sighs, closes his eyes, tried to isolate from the crowd and the vibration, and then he feels something sharp and incredibly painful on his feet. The light is dim, and he can't quite see. He feels a pop of pyrotechnics like carbonation in his chest, and he can see from the soaring sudden glow of if that he's actually bleeding. 

He limps out of the crowd, finds a bench, sits down. 

He must have stepped off of his shoes for a second or something, because he has glass in the sole of his foot. It's ugly and painful. 

He feels a hand on his shoulder suddenly. He looks, and there's another man on the bench with him. 

His full mouth moves, and Castiel reads his lips, or tries to in the bad lighting. 

He clears his throat. He's had speech therapy. He can do this. 

"I'm deaf," he says, and the man nods, understanding. 

His hands shake. His form is a mess. His expression is nervous and serious. 

"Hi," he signs. "Sorry. I didn't realize. Don't sign often. Nurse. Help you."

Castiel points to his foot, and the man nods. He pulls out a walkie talkie and says something, mouth obscured. 

"Cart coming," he signs. "Wait with you."

Castiel nods. "I'm Castiel," he signs, spelling out his name letter by letter. 

The man says it, and then he signs it back. "Strange," he comments.

Castiel smiles. "Yours?" he asks. 

More pyrotechnics, and the man is suddenly lit all over. Castiel looses his breath suddenly. The nurse- the man- is beautiful. Bright mouth. Green, green eyes. Freckles over his nose, brown-blonde hair.

His hands caught in that starburst of light. "Dean," he answers. "I'm Dean."


	2. To Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breath fast and sudden

The medical tent is well lit, and Dean is even more beautiful in clear light. The gash along the bottom of Castiel's foot, though, is awful.

It happens that Dean is the only person in the tent who can sign, and the thing is, Castiel is reluctant to let them know that he can read lips. So he lets the conversations about what happened and the process and the paperwork happen through layers of translation around him. 

They just need his first name and a little bit of basic info- his prescriptions, whether or not he's traveled out of the country recently. The clinic does it all anonymously and for free. Castiel fills out the form, and another nurse gives him a pad of paper. 

"Thank you," he signs. 

"No stitches," Dean signs. "Clean up, wrap it. Drugs. Will be okay. Sorry you are hurt." The signs are stilted- his speech is influid. It's hardly a second language for him. His face is open and kind, though. Concerned. Hopeful.

Castiel smiles despite himself. Picks up the pad of paper and writes, "You are very kind. I appreciate your concern."

Dean smiles. Writes, "Don't worry about it, angel. Sorry I'm not too good at speaking with my hands. I'm not nearly as dumb as I sound."

"You don't sound dumb," Castiel replies. "You just speak with a very thick accent."

Dean's body erupts into laughter. Watching him makes Castiel feel warm. 

Something calls his attention away, though, because he turns to Castiel, smiles, waves, and heads off.

And as suddenly as he came into Castiel's life, Dean the beautiful nurse walks out.


	3. Chapter 3

Gabriel looks truly apologetic when he comes into the tent. He’s picked up rioutous facepaint since Castiel saw him last, and he’s looking thouroughly dishevled.

“Cas, I’m sorry,” he signs. He’s a little sloppy- probably more than a little high. “I didn’t notice you were gone and then...you were gone and I was like...super stoned. Let’s go home, okay?”

Castiel nods. He’s been waiting in the tent for Gabriel, at least that’s what he told all the other nurses. He knows he’ll see Gabriel. He’s his brother. But Dean, that nurse? Who knows.

He gets up gingerly and he and Gabriel crutch away from the festival grounds. Gabriel hails a cab and they sit in the cold car, unspeaking. Gabriel shakes a little from whatever he’s on- it’s probably more than just pot- and he’s clearly embarrassed.

The cab stops in front of Castiel’s building, and Gabriel helps him get out and then the cab drives off. Castiel walks gently into the building, and then he limps up the stairs. He’s so tired when he gets in, he doesn’t even take off his clothes- just collapses onto his bed and falls asleep, deep and dreamless.

Or nearly dreamless, really.

 

His phone vibrates madly in his pocket, and his headache is so intense it’s like a fire inside of his skull.

Castiel reflexively extends his middle finger at the sensation. Pulls out the offending device and tries to focus his eyes enough to read the screen.

Hey bro, it reads. I brought breakfast. Let me in.

Castiel tries to roll his eyes, but it hurts so much that he gets halfway there and gives up.

He doesn’t remember what happened last night until he puts his weight on his foot and he moans, his breath slow and hot as it escapes his open mouth. As a kid, the speech therapist had told him that breath made an “aah” sound.

He pushes the button to let his brother into the building and he throws his door open. Gabriel announces his presence by flashing the lights off and on a few times. Castiel flips him off, this time in person.

Gabriel puts down a few full grocery bags and begins to sign. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry. I know it sucked, I wasn’t thinking. It was a bad idea. Let me make you French toast. I have stale challah and everything.” He has to sign the individual letters for challah.

Castiel huffs- breath in and out, very fast. “You’re an asshole,” he answers. “And I’m only letting you do this because your dumb concert ate my foot.”

Gabriel smiles and hugs his brother. He walks into the kitchen and begins to work. After about eight minutes, the apartment becomes full of the warm, sweet smell of breakfast. His brother brings him a plate, drenched in syrup, and he sits on the living room floor and signs, “I’ve never been to a med-tent before. Was there a mad party?”

Now Castiel can actually roll his eyes. He shakes his head. Takes a bite and signs back, “No mad parties.”

Gabriel waggles his eyebrows. “Really?” he says. “Because a nurse gave me a message for you. Signed it pretty badly at me too.”

Castiel’s heart does not speed up and he does not blush. “Really?” he answers.

“Yeah,” Gabriel signs. “Dean something. Said he’s not a full time nurse. Also does some work at a children’s hospital in the city. Said he’d love to see you sometime.”

“Do you have his phone number? An email? The hospital name?” Castiel signs frantically.

Gabriel smiles wickedly. “Might have an email. Why? You interested?”

Castiel put his plate down and gets up. “Yes, Gabriel, I’m interested!” He signs back. “I haven’t- I haven’t had anyone interested in a long time, okay? And he- he signs a little but he doesn’t mind that I don’t- Gabriel, please, okay?”

Gabriel smiles. He yanks a card out of his pocket and tosses it to his brother.

Castiel holds it for a few seconds, dumbstruck, and then looks back up at his brother.

“Well, shit, go on,” he answers. “You’ve got an email to a cute boy to agonize over for the next few hours. I’ve gotta run. I’ll have my phone for advice.”

He pecks a quick kiss on his cheek and dashes out.

Castiel smiles at the card in his hands.

He practically runs to his computer.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Dean was halfway through his six out shift when someone who wasn’t about four feet tall crutched into the lobby with two cups of coffee and a sheepish grin.

Dean smiled and forgot all of his sign language. He turned to Jess, a doctor in the ward and said, “Look can you like, for just ten-”

She nodded. “Do what you gotta do, cowboy.” She took the file from his hand and headed off.

Dean wiped his face in his hands and tried to remember the physical shape of his words.

“Hi,” he began to sign, speaking with his voice as he spoke with his hands. “Um-”

The guy held up a finger and dragged a phone out of his pocket. Typed in, “Hello.” He passed the phone to Dean.

Dean felt himself smiling like a maniac.

“Hi,” he typed. “I’m Dean.”

He smiled back and typed. “I’m Castiel. I brought coffee- do you have time?”

Dean nodded. Motioned toward the break area.

Castiel wore a worn t-shirt and slacks, big trench-coat pulled over his shoulders. His hair looked like it had never been brushed and he had dark circles under his eyes.

“Late night?” Dean signed.

Castiel grinned. Nodded fiercely and typed into the phone, “My brother- it was his idea for me to come. I can feel the beat if it’s loud enough, but it all just felt muddy. Concerts aren’t really my scene.”

Dean nodded in understanding. “I guess he got you home safe then, eh?”

Castiel rolled his eyes and signed, hurriedly. Dean didn’t understand all of it, but the gist was, “Gabriel couldn’t get his head out of his ass safely.”

Dean raised an eyebrow.

Castiel huffed in frustration, and the sound was low and unexpected from him. He typed, “Gabriel is an idiot who had to hire a cab because he got too stoned.”

Dean laughed. “I see,” he signed.

Castiel spoke slowly this time. “Why did you learn?” He asks. “To sign?” His hands move deliberately.

“Honestly?” Dean replies. “Chicks think it’s hot.”

Castiel slaps the table joyously, throws his head back, and laughs. The sound is unfamiliar and overloud, and a few people look at them, startled. Dean can’t care though, watching this guy, joyful, makes him feel warm in a way he hasn’t felt since he loved that girl he learned sign language for.

When Castiel is done, he grins, and signs messily, “You want to come to dinner?”

And Dean nods and says, “Yes.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Dean looks lost in Castiel's house. He peers around tr corners and studies books and posters intently. Occasionally signs something. "Wow," or, "interesting."

 

It's hard to be casual while showing off, when you're deaf. 

 

Dean walks into the kitchen with Castiel. He raises an eyebrow. "Dinner?" he signs. "What?"

 

Castiel's not sure Dean would recognize the sign for "goat," so he passes him the open cookbook. 

 

"Spanikopita," it reads. "Spinach and Feta Pastries."

 

Dean smiles. "I can't cook," he signs. "Was never my home. Sheds, home. Cars. Car shed."

 

Castiel writes out 'garage' on a sheet of paper and shows Dean the sign. 

 

Dean grins and forms it himself. "Garage. The garage is my home."

 

Castiel nods and smiles. 

 

It's flattering to have someone learn your language for you, Castiel realizes. 

 

"But you're a nurse," he signs. "Wouldn't you rather handle cars?"

 

Dean shrugs. "Cars easy," he signs. "Easy problems. People? Complicated. Puzzles. I help people, I save the world. Hard work. Scary work. Love it." He pauses and writes out on the sheet of paper he's been using as a last resort, "My work gives my life shape and meaning."

 

Castiel smiles at him. 

 

"You're a boy scout," he signs back. 

 

Dean turns bright with laughter again, and through his bare feet he can feel just the barest hint of it rumble on his linoleum floor. 

 

Castiel signs, "Please. Relax. Let me cook. I'll let you know when dinner is done."

 

Dean grins. "See you," he signs. "Came to see you. Don't want to just slip away." 

 

What a warm, strange, gift, Dean's presence is.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Dean’s body is warm next to his, and Castiel loves that solidness as he cooks.

Dean is considerate and careful in Castiel’s space. He’s aware that Castiel’s can’t hear him and thus might have trouble perceiving him. There’s a little stepping on feet, but for the most part he either stays out of the way or is actively helpful. Castiel signs little things to him as they cook. The word for ‘fry’ and the word for ‘chop.’ Words for ‘feta’ and ‘pepper’ and ‘lemon zest.’ Dean always signs them back, very careful. He’s a deliberate speaker and a quick learner. It makes Castiel smile.

The food is quickly thrown together and then placed into the oven. “You’ll listen for the timer, right?’ Castiel signs. “I usually use the vibrator on my phone, but with you here-”

“No problems,” Dean answers.

“Is there anything you’d like to do?” Castiel signs back. “I could turn on the television or pull out a puzzle or something, if you’d like.”

“Enjoy talking to you,” Dean replies. He plops down on Castiel’s couch. “Want to know you. More about you. What do you do?”

“Not that much,” Castiel answers. “I substitute teach at the school for the deaf downtown and I do a little tutoring. Mom and Dad left Gabriel and I comfortable. Work provides more supplemental income than anything.” He blushes a little. “I’m very lucky,” he answers. “For lots of reasons.”

Dean nods a couple of times. “No one so pretty on biology alone,” he signs. “Divine.”

Castiel feels his face grow hot and he feels the vibration of laughter in his body. He smiles at Dean. “Dork,” he signs out, using letters so Dean can read. Dean laughs back.

“Sorry,” Castiel signs. “I’m not used to people wanting to talk. Most of my dates, they either wanted to ignore it and just fuck or try and fix me.”

Dean frowns. “Fix you?” he signs back.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Implants, therapy, homeopathy, organic diet- everything,” he says. “I’m either a one-night stand or some tragic prince waiting for my curse to be removed.”

“Fuck that,” Dean says aloud. Castiel sees it in his lips and his mouth. He signs, “Bad.”

Castiel nods. “It’s...frustrating.” He spells out the word and then gives the sign. Dean says it and then signs back.

“Frustrating,” he signs. “Rude. You’re deaf. Not sick.”

Castiel smiles at Dean. This is new.  He’s  not used to be accommodated with his deafness, and it’s refreshing to have someone try to talk to him with his own language. He isn’t used to everything feeling so natural and so real.

He’s disappointed when Dean pulls out his phone suddenly, frowning.

“My brother,” he signs. He steps out of the room and Castiel finds himself frowning too.

Dean’s gone a long time. Castiel finds himself checking the clock on his wall to know when to pull the food from the oven.

When he comes back, Dean is standing there, pale.

He says something and then he says, “My father.” His lips aren’t clear. He isn’t hear. Castiel knows before Dean even puts it together and remembers.

He blinks a few times. “My father dead,” he signs. “I’m sorry.”

He grabs his coat and leaves and Castiel just stands alone in his apartment. He drops the metal pan on his floor and sinks down.

He forms the lip-on-teeth eff and then lets the mouth motions guide the word out from him.

_Fuck._

 


	7. Chapter 7

Dean gets back to his house when he realizes that he just skippped out on his date with Castiel and it makes him so upset that he screams.

He sits in his car in front of his house in the suburbs and he screams because his fucking dad did it again.

There’s a knock on his window and Dean looks up.

Sam’s face is tear stained and his eyes look red and puffy. He looks worn out. His voice is heavy and hoarse as he says, “You okay?”

Dean inhales a long, slow breath. Sam made his peace with Dad a long time ago. His damage isn’t Dean’s damage, and he’s entitled to that. “He’s dead,” he says.

Sam nods a couple of times. “Yeah,” he says. He swallows. “Already cremated, too.”

Dean looks at his brother, and then he looks at the thing his brother his holding. Looks at who his brother is holding. “You’re shitting me,” Dean says.

Sam shakes his head. “Apparently he was quite specific. No funeral, no graveyard. Urn.” Sam’s voice is a little clumsy and deep. He was about four when he had the implant put in, and while therapy did him a world of good, he still speaks with what’s basically an accent. A little too loud, a little nasal but usually well thought out. “I mean,” he continues, “Shit, Dean.”

Dean lays his head on his steering wheel. “Gimme a moment,” he says.

“Bobby already called,” Sam says. “I tried to talk to him on the phone but that’s...difficult.” He motions abstractly at the side of his head, near his ears. His sign and symbol for his implant.

“I’ll call him back in like...ten minutes,” Dean says. He signs out minutes, more out of reflex than anything. “I just need a moment.” He pulls his keys out of the ignition and tosses them to Sam, who takes them and heads to the house with their father under his arm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dean says. He waits out in his car before climbing out and heading into the house.

Sam is sitting in a big chair in the living room and the urn containing their father is on the coffee table in front of him.

“When was the last time you talked to him?” Sam asks.

“Two years ago,” Dean answers. “Thanksgiving.”

Sam nods a couple of times. Slowly.

“You?” Dean asks.

“Wednesday,” Sam answers. “He’d swung by my office. Wanted to see if I would go to lunch with him.” He shakes his head and begins to sign something loosely. Sam does that sometimes, still. ASL is very much his first language and sometimes it seems like he has to speak twice, once to work out his meaning and another time to be understood. Dean picks up barely the signs for the house and the bills and fight.

“He’s not- he wasn’t in debt, was he?” Dean asks.

Sam looks at him, a little startled. “No,” he answers. “The house has some issues, apparently. Kind of starting to fall apart.”

Dean would punch a hole in the walls of this house if it weren’t a rental. “Goddamnit,” he murmurs. “He should have told me.”

“I think he tried to,” Sam says. “He was really...scared when he came to see me. I think he was realizing that he’d...that he’d fucked up.”

Dean leans against the wall and then he sinks to floor. “I wish he’d told me,” he says. “I wish he hadn’t. I don’t know anymore. I don’t,” he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know.” He looks over at Sam.

Sam grew up to be tall and strong, despite everything, which makes Dean happy. Sam grew up to be moderately stable, too, with a pretty long term-girlfriend and everything. Sam sits and looks at this jar with their dad in it like an adult, like a grown up. He looks like he knows what he’s doing, he looks like he sees something here.

Sam is a lot more willing to forgive their father, Dean knows. Dean knows a lot of things Sam doesn’t, though, to be entirely honest. Dean knows some things that Sam will never know.

It’s not Dean’s job to ruin the man’s memory.

“What do we do?” Dean asks.

“I don’t know,” Sam answers.

Dean looks up at the ceiling. “I’ll go call Bobby.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam has a cochlear implant. More on that later.


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel sends Gabriel a text message, because he knows that if his brother doesn’t come over, he’ll do something he’ll regret.

He doesn’t want to get up from where he is on the floor, he doesn’t want to do anything, really. He just wants to pout and maybe fuck.

Gabriel bursts in without pretense, his footsteps brash across the floor. He sits down next to Castiel and signs, “What happened, kiddo?”

“His dad died,” Castiel answers.

Gabriel pauses for a moment. “What?”

“His dad died,” Castiel repeats. “He got a call from his brother and apparently his dad just died. Which means-”

“Which means no booty for you for a few days,” Gabriel continues. “Yeah, I see.” He nods. Wraps his arm over his brother. The action forces his arms wide and makes his signs ridiculous and broad. “You’re lonely, huh?”

Castiel nods sullenly. “You’re the only person in my phone that I’m not gonna try to fuck tonight,” he responds.

Castiel can feel his brother’s laughter against his neck. “Get up and I’ll roll you a joint, okay?” he signs. “I brought what I had left from the festival. Should be good stuff.”

Castiel rolls his eyes as he pulls himself up from the floor. “Weed makes me horny, I thought you knew that,” he replies.

Gabriel looks at his brother, quizzical. Horrified. “Why the fuck would I know that?” he shoots back, hands fast like birds. “Christ.”

Castiel laughs. Walks to the kitchen and pulls out two beers. He hands one to his brother and takes the other himself.

“I need to get hammered tonight,” he signs. “And you’re taking my phone so that I don’t end up making some mistake.”

Gabriel nods and takes the beer and phone from his brother’s hands and slumps back into a couch. Waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Dear Dean,” he writes out on the air, “give me the d.”

Castiel frowns. “D?” he signs back, a question.

Gabriel laughs, the action written on the way he throws his head back. “You wanna fuck him. You want his dick.” He shakes his head. “You should really maintain a better online presence.”

“I don’t get any of their jokes,” Castiel answers. “And I’m not interested in any of their television programs.”

* * *

They drink, messily, for the next few hours, trading words sloppily between each other until Gabriel signs, “Do you miss hearing?”

“I don’t really remember it,” Castiel answers, hands loose, shaking. “I was just a baby.”

“Mom and Dad never forgave themselves,” Gabriel answers. “They were always upset.” He’s talking as he’s signing, something Dean does, too. “They knew they should have left that place sooner, they just-”

“It’s not their fault,” Castiel signs out. “They couldn’t have known and they were just doing their job.” He waits a moment, thinking through the words. “I wasn’t the only baby in the world.”

Gabriel opens his mouth and then closes it. Smiles, a little sadly. The sign for ‘I love you’ is very simple. Pinky, pointer finger, thumb up. He lets it rock back and forth slightly.

Castiel rolls his eyes and drinks more of his beer. “No one lives in a vacuum, Gabriel,” he signs. The word for his brother’s name a joke in the family- the same sign for ‘message.’

“They loved you,” he signs.

“That doesn’t mean they didn’t love other people,” Castiel signs back. “And that’s okay.”

Gabriel sighs. “I’m going to bed,” he replies. “Your phone is coming with me. You should drink some water.” He gets up and wanders off, presumably to the guest bedroom.

Castiel gets up after a moment and heads to bed.

He dreams about Dean’s hands on his body.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Dean looks down at his phone at two in the morning and yawns. Blinks a few times. Opens a new message and types out, Hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to leave you hanging like that it just-

Dean turns over onto his belly and sighs heavily into his pillow. He closes the message, unsent.

Sam has a few days off from his work at the law firm and Dean has a few days off from the hospital to drive out to John’s house at the edge of town and clean up and figure out what they’re going to do with the old place. Dean hasn’t been back there since he was twenty three and helping Sam move out, he realizes.

He looks at his phone again and types out, Sorry. I didn’t want to leave. I have to help my brother settle my dad’s affairs. I would love to see you again. I’m sorry.

He looks at the message and sighs heavily and erases more of it and just sends, Sorry.

He falls back asleep, or at least he tries to.

 

Sam knocks on his bedroom door about four hours later. “You wanna get breakfast?” He asks. His voice is a little too loud- sounds like he hasn’t put his implant in yet.

Dean throws up a thumbs up and pulls himself up out of bed. He scratches absently at his chest and signs to Sam, “Let me put on some pants.”

“You still sign?” He asks. He’s fiddling with some bag and he pulls out the aid and the magnet. Pops it in his ear and clips it in place. “I mean, I know you learned it for me and Jess but I didn’t know that you kept up with it.”

“I met someone,” Dean signs. “You all good to go? You got your ears on?”

“Say something,” Sam says. His voice is a little softer and a little more controlled.

“Bitch,” Dean says.

“Jerk,” Sam answers. “Come on, if we don’t shake a leg, the police will beat us there.”

They pulled on clothes and shuffled out to the car. The door shut with a bang, the engine roared up, the radio played.

If there was anything they’d learned from their beat cop dad, it was how to clean a gun and that if you wanted good food cheap, you had to go where the cops and the firefighters ate. Of course, if you didn’t get there soon enough, they’d run out of essentials like the special and pie, but they could wake up at six am for a good breakfast. God knows they’d done it enough before.

“So you’re signing?” Sam asks again.

“I’m out of practice,” Dean answers. “I hate losing a language, I thought you knew that, Sammy.”

“So you met someone,” Sam says.

“I,” Dean starts, sighing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sam laughs, a big noise from deep in his belly. “Who is she? Who is he? What’s up?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I am not caffeinated enough for this,” he answers, making the sign for coffee, or at least the best he can one-handed.

“If you don’t tell me anything, I’ll put itching powder in your clothes again,” Sam laughs.

“I’ll fuck with the calibration on your implant,” Dean shoots back. “I’ve still got the screwdriver and everything.”

Sam laughs again.

It feels good to be with Sam again. Dean doesn’t get to see him much anymore, what with his work at the firm. He saw him often enough until he met Jess, but now he’s married and building a family of his own. He doesn’t have room in his life for his mess of an older brother, but that’s okay. Sam’s happy. Sam’s healthy. Sam’s got some beautiful wife and they’re perfect and happy together.

Dean drives on to the restaurant, and he almost doesn’t feel his phone buzz in his pocket.

Almost.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Castiel types out, I miss you, into the phone and he hits send. It’s about six in the morning, a little after, and he’s just awake enough to string the words together.

Now sunlight pours into his apartment and the smell of coffee is like a fire to his senses.

Castiel’s an early riser and he made his way to his brother’s room easily enough to grab his phone from the night-stand and make his way out.

His hangover his unpleasant, and he’s just aware enough to realize that the message was probably a mistake.

He lets a breath out of his body and pours himself a cup of coffee, ignoring the way the coffee burns onto the appliance as it drips onto the bottom plate and not into the pot. He takes a sip, ferociously hot and black, and leans up against his kitchen counter. He almost doesn’t feel his phone vibrate.

Castiel picks up his phone and opens the message.

I’msorry, it reads. I’ll be back in town as soon as possible. Promise. I miss you, too. I’m sorry.

Castiel rubs his face. Smiles. He finishes his coffee and walks to his bathroom. Climbs into the shower and wishes he weren’t alone.

The water is hot against his body, pounding into his tense muscles. He has to tutor a kid at about noon- needs help with long division or something and he’ll have to catch the train downtown to get there in time-he’ll have to leave the house at about ten. He yawns heavily in the spray of the shower and washes his hair, his face.

By the time he gets dressed, Gabriel is awake and sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. “Any word?” He signs.

Castiel shakes his head. “Nothing yet,” he answers. “Probably driving? I’m not sure where he’s going. Probably far.”

Gabriel nods. He takes a sip of coffee while Castiel pours himself a cup. “Gonna be late for work,” he signs. “Take a shower and then be out of your hair.”

Castiel nods.  Signs out, “Don’t use all of my shampoo.”

Gabriel shakes his head, yawns one more time, and stumbles to the bathroom.

Castiel grabs his phone from the counter and looks at Dean’s message again. Types out, I’m sorry I can’t be there with you.

He sends it and he feel strange in the wake of the admission. He means it. His parents died a few years back and now it’s just him and Gabriel, against the world. He feels their absence acutely. They knew him and talked to him. They loved him and made an effort for him. He’s been alone for so long, since he lost his hearing, and they were two more people who populated his lonely world.

He wished he could have talked to more of the people at the funeral, or that someone other than Gabriel could have heard him.

Castiel slides his phone into his pocket and keep getting ready.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken me so long to update- I've been trying to figure out where it's going next and what it was going to be. Next update should come much sooner.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean hasn’t been inside of this house since he went to college, seven years ago. He stands at the edge of the porch and looks at it and suddenly realizes how small and strange it is.

About an hour’s drive from where he lives. About an hour and a half from Sam. It’s at the back of the city, right where it starts to become country again. Old porch with rotted wood, old roof that leaks, old electrical system with its own special quirks and problems. Old haunted feeling from the fire, all that time ago.

Dean grew up here. He thought he’d never see it again.

Sam’s hand rests suddenly on his shoulder. He signs quickly, “You okay?”

The house is smaller than he’d remembered, and older, too.

Dean nods a couple of times.

Sam unlocks the door and and they step inside and Dean stands there, in the doorway, for a good ten minutes before his brother calls, “Hey, you coming?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, out of the daze. “Yeah.”

It goes fast. John didn’t believe in holding on to much but clothes and liquor bottles, so there are a few shirts and his old badge but not much else. A fridge to clean out and furniture to take to Goodwill. There’s the whiskey and sweat smell of him on everything, there’s their old bedrooms, completely empty upstairs.

John didn’t believe in yearbooks or photographs.

They manage to take care of pretty much all of it fast enough, with trucks coming in the morning for the furniture. The walls had always been bare but for the wallpaper. The kitchen equipment had always been sparse. The television had always been old as shit.

“Start the car,” Dean says at about seven. “I’m gonna hit the head and I’ll be out.” He tosses his keys to his brother and heads to the bathroom.

He’s in there with his dick in his hand when he realizes that they missed this room. He finishes and sighs, heavily. He zips up and opens the cabinet to pull out all of the pills and mouthwash to throw away so they won’t have to take care of it tomorrow when he stops.

There’s a picture in the back of the cabinet, nestled between a bottle of shaving cream and scope, old and curled at the edges. A little water damaged, probably from steam.

It’s John and Mom and Sam, when he’s just a baby, squirmy and tiny. Dean’s there too, just at the edge of the picture. They’re on a picnic, they’re outside, they’re happy, they’re smiling. Before the fire, before mom died, before Sam lost his hearing, before John broke, before everything fell apart- it’s just them. Simple. Happy.

Dean holds it in his hand for a long moment, and then he tucks it into his pocket.

They can finish cleaning the bathroom tomorrow.

He can show his brother the photograph later.

He sits next to him in the car and they drive back to Sam’s place, where their father sits in his urn, small and strange.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Castiel feels his phone vibrate against his thigh about halfway through the tutoring session. He excuses himself to use the bathroom. It makes him feel like a teenager all over again- cutting class to talk to his- to some guy.

Christ, what a long day, it reads. Dad didn’t keep a lot of stuff, but still.

Castiel smiles.

Sometimes when he reads, there will be mention of ‘tone of voice’ or ‘the way a voice sounds.’ And it can leave him bitter, sometimes. He remembers sound occasionally. Simply, flatly. He can sometimes remember the way words felt inside of his ears instead of his eyes.

There’s also a tone to seen word, though, and there’s something instantly casual and easy to Dean’s words, to his voice typed out in electronic letters and spelled messily with his hands. As if Castiel has already been made part of the circle, part of the family.

He receives another message before he can respond- Can’t wait to get out of here.Dad and I didn’t quite get along and it’s...weird.

Castiel frowns a little, barely there. Cleaning your parents’ house after their death is very strange. I’m sorry you’re going through this. Is your brother helpful?

He waits in there for several minutes before washing his hands and going back out to tutoring.

* * *

 

Dean looks over at his brother, standing tall and pumping gas. He signs, You and Dad, did you ever figure that out? Anything?

There’s a long pause before Sam says, “It wasn’t really ever friendly, but it got better. He wasn’t cruel, towards the end there.”

Dean nods. He looks at Castiel’s question on his phone and types, Yeah.

He climbs back into the car, Sam in the passenger seat. He disconnects his implant and curls up into the door, napping while Dean plays music.

They drive back into the suburbs, getting in at about nine. Dean shoves his brother awake and heads inside, flicking on the lights and sitting down, heavily, on the couch.

He smells all wrong- smells like his Dad’s house.

He hates this smell. Smells like bared fists, spilled whiskey, dark woods, and fighting.

Sam shuffles in and says in his too-loud, unhearing voice, “Bed. See you in the morning.”

Dean nods and heads to his own bedroom where he pulls off his socks and shoes and looks at his phone in his hands. No response. No messages. He sighs, and wipes tiredly at his face.

It’s nine o’clock. Little early for a booty call, but what the hell.

I don’t know if you’re awake or not, he types, but I’d love some company. Have a little more room out in the ‘burbs if you want to make the drive.

He’s just given up, laying back on the bed, when his phone buzzes.

What’s the address?

* * *

 

Castiel shakes as he hands the taxi driver the money. Shakes as he types into the phone, I’m here.

The house is larger than his apartment, but it’s still small. A low ranch house that clings to the ground, spread out. A tree in the front yard. This shining monstrosity of a car in the front.

The door opens and light pours out. Dean stands, silhouetted in the doorway.

He smiles and motions broadly for Castiel to come inside.

Inside, Dean smiles a little, strangely, and says, Come on, come meet my father.


	13. Chapter 13

The urn sits on the kitchen table. It is a very small thing, for being such a big thing.

Castiel looks at it for a long time before he sits down at the table. He keeps looking at it.

His parents weren’t cremated; they were buried in a little plot out in Illinois, where they had met. He and his brother had looked at the plot for a long, long time and then driven off. They’d had to leave them behind. They were never portable. They could never sit on the kitchen table like this.

Their graves had also never had presence quite like this.

Oh, he signs after many moments of wordlessness. Hello, Mr. Winchester.

Dean quirks a small smile. So, uh, he signs. I haven’t...not honest.

Castiel frowns. He turns his head slowly to the side. It’s a gesture he’s picked up, a universal for, I don’t understand.

My brother, Dean signs out. He’s deaf. I learned  sign for him. Dad was police...man. He never bothered to learn. Sam got implant in college. My signs never good, but slip after implant. Not practice. Didn’t learn for girl. Not for a girl. Sorry.Didn’t want to tell you. Shy.

Castiel looks at Dean for a long time before he signs back, Why would you lie about that? He smiles. Idiot.

Dean smiles again. I don’t know. Scared. I’m...you’re so great. So...manpretty and smart.

Handsome, Castiel replies.

Yeah, Dean answers, nodding vigorously. Yeah, that’s the word. I didn’t want you to think I was...Sorry.

The space in the kitchen is very small. The table takes up about half of it, where Castiel is sitting. Dean leans against the counter and looks at him. His eyes are gentle. His body is tensed, is nervous.

Not good at this, Dean continues.

You’ve been doing alright so far, Castiel signs.

Dean smiles again. His mouth just barely quirks upward, red and pink and happy and warm.

Castiel wonders, fleetingly, if they can pick up where they’d left off.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends, sorry this one is so short! It's been kicking around my documents for about a week now and I think this is as long as this chapter will be. I hope to have another one up in the next day or two!


	14. Chapter 14

Castiel sits at the kitchen table and signs something. Dean doesn’t recognize it, or rather he doesn’t remember the meaning. He looks at the shape of his hands, moving outward.

He raises an eyebrow.

Castiel smiles.

Signs out- _r-u-i-n._

Pauses.

Signs out _d-e-b-a-u-c-h._

Pauses.

Signs out _w-r-e-c-k._

Pauses.

Signs out _f-u-c-k m-e._

Dean runs into the table, trying urgently to fight through space to get to him, bangs his knee against the hard wood, jostles the urn in place, knocks over a glass of water, moves jaggedly, unevenly until his hands find Castiel’s hair.

Castiel has stood up and his hands find Dean’s hips, slide up his sides under his shirt and spread against his chest. They move confidently and hungrily. Greedily.

Dean kisses him desperately, suddenly realizing how much he wants this. How much he’s wanted Castiel even though he barely knows him, has barely talked to him, has only known his name a few days. Castiel’s lips, his mouth, his kisses are like waking up from a fever.This feels so right. This feels so clean.

Castiel’s hands grab and grasp against him but they also flutter and tickle and move and twist. They touch, they dance. They sign against Dean’s skin. They say words Dean can’t hear and can’t read. He’s not wired quite the right way for it, he hasn’t spoken the language, fluently, his whole life. He is a tourist in Castiel’s world, brought close and tight against the fishbowl he lives his life in.

There is nothing in Castiel’s hunger or desire or movement or action that indicates that he wants this to stop. Dean keeps kissing him. He moves from his mouth to his neck, biting and sucking and licking at the space where his jaw becomes his neck- the hollow there when he throws his head back and sighs, heavily, with pleasure.

Dean loves the sound of the heavy sigh. He files it away mentally, along with the sound of his laughter.These are small treasures that Dean will revisit when he is away, when he is at work, when he is driving, when this falls apart (because these things always fall apart).

Dean pulls away and scoops Castiel up in his arms. Castiel looks surprised and irritated until Dean starts moving.

Castiel hugs him tightly but looks at him very seriously.

 _Bedroom,_ he mouths, largely. There is no breath in the word to make it have sound. It is like all of Castiel’s words, Dean realizes, carrying his heavy body. It is a shape and not a sound.

Dean smiles and nods.

Castiel leans over a bit, across the bridal carry that Dean has managed, and kisses against his neck and shoulder, where his t-shirt has pulled away and revealed his skin.

Dean tosses Castiel onto his bed and strips, pulls off his offending shirt and his jeans.

Castiel watches him, hungrily. He licks his lips. Please, he signs. Please, please. So long. Been so long.

He pulls off his own shirt and works away his pants, just in his boxers on Dean’s bed, hands moving frantically through the same words, this song without sound.

 _The light,_ he signs. _Don’t leave the light on._

Dean pauses, thumb slung in the band of his underwear. _C-a-s_ , he signs. _You sure?_

Castiel nods. _Trust you_ , he says.

Dean looks at Castiel and lets his eyes flick to the lamp on the nightstand. He moves his head in its direction.

 _In case_ , he signs. _Hurt you. Upset you. Slow down._

Castiel looks at it and nods. _I want silence,_ he signs back.

Dean waits a moment and nods again. Understanding.

Castiel doesn’t want to read body language or hand gestures or mouthed words, he doesn’t want to be active or listening.

He wants to feel.

 _Anything,_ Dean signs, _and the light goes on._

Castiel lays back on the bed and sighs.

Dean shuts off the light.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

  
  


Castiel never learned how to feel signs, he just learned to watch them, so in the dark on Dean’s bed, the physical memory of the nearby lamp in his muscles, this is both blindness and deafness and muteness. It is a total loss of his ability to communicate and be communicated to.

It is very strangely quiet in a way that is new. Hard to explain.

When he had gotten the measles all that time ago, abroad with his parents, it was like he had woken up one morning and a switch had gone off on the world. There were so many things that were wrong with him at the time, he’d been so miserably sick, but they’d hoped. They’d hoped and prayed that it would go away. That the damage would heal. That he would hear again. And at first it had been silent. It had been lonely. But then he’d learned to repopulate his world with words that were mouthed and signed and written out in body language and facial expression and pen and ink. And in a way, his life became noisier. It became impossible not to read, not to hear.

This, though, this is isolation. This is darkness, this is control, this is a kind of total silence he hasn’t experienced since he was four.

Dean is warm and hot and tender and firm and strange and new and Castiel- Casitel loves it. It has been so long since anyone has touched him like this, in the dark. It has been so long since anyone has touched him, really. His body is warm and heavy over Castiel, and he can feel every shape of his hard muscles and giving belly. He can feel the callouses on the tips of Dean’s fingers. He can feels the bones in his hips. He can feel his body hair under his own finger tips. He can feel his cheekbones and jaw. He can feel his eyelashes where they blink against his skin.

He can feel the total closeness of Dean on top of him. He can feel his own body like a strung bow beneath.

Dean’s mouth suddenly kisses, smooches, licks, and takes Castiel’s cock, and Castiel feels something like light inside of himself.

* * *

 

Castiel cries out, completely unaware and Dean pauses.

Castiel’s fingers find Dean’s scalp and grasp and tear at his hair like he wants to rip it out at the roots and he gasps and cries, so desperate. The light doesn’t come on.

Dean figures that’s an endorsement to continue.

The only light in the bedroom sneaks between the slats of the blinds. It is the sodium glow of the streetlights outside, a yellow brown, but it casts like long, straight strips over the bed.

Castiel has his eyes clenched tight but Dean’s are open, and what little he can see is beautiful.

His body rolls and rocks and shakes and grasps and fucking- he fucking quivers in the goddamn streetlight. Dean grasps his thighs to hold him down and secure for a few minutes and then resumes the interrupted blowjob.

Castiel’s cries, Castiel’s voice is like broken music. It is like the ways sounds don’t fit together in a piece of punk rock; it is like the really weird bits on Pet Sounds; it is like an orchestra tuning; it is like the sound of trees falling; the sound of glass bending; the sound of steel hitting stone.

These sounds Castiel makes without hearing them are everything. They are the most precious thing Dean has ever encountered. They are secret. They are treasures. They are a truth that Castiel has bound up inside of himself.

When Castiel finally comes, it is with a huge sigh and cry, his hands resting on Dean’s temples, his body tensing and falling loose.

With the lights off, Castiel is unrestrained. He is wild.

Between the legs of this wild creature, bucking and moaning and sighing and touching; as the subject of his touch, Dean realizes that he loves this guy.

He swallows and pulls away and moves back up, peppering Castiel’s skin with kisses and bites. Castiel breathes and sighs. His sounds are rough and masculine.

“I love you,” Dean murmurs. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He keeps murmuring it, into every kiss, every touch. He murmurs it as Castiel twists and shifts in his arms. “I love you, I love you, I love,” he murmurs, he states, he says, he shouts.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he cries, suddenly realizing there is moisture on his face as Castiel bites and sucks hickeys on his chest. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you,” he says. “I love you, I love you.”

“I love you,” he whispers as Castiel falls asleep in this bed with him. He watches Castiel as he sleeps for hours and hours. The sun slowly comes up, the room slowly becomes brighter and brighter, until there is enough grey light in the space that Dean can see the shape of him.

Dean pushes Castiel’s hair away from his brow to better see his face.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you.”

He’s never been so scared in his life.

 


	16. Chapter 16

 

When Castiel wakes up the next morning, it takes him a moment to remember where he is. The bed feels different- the sheets are worn more thin and are cool in some places, warm in others. The walls are a different color. The smell has changed. He blinks a few times, turns over, and remembers.

He remembers Dean’s hands on his body. He remembers the brightness, the glory of it all. He remembers feeling Dean and trusting him. He remembers trusting him completely.

Castiel blinks at him a few times and feels a blush crawl over his face. Dean’s face is relaxed in sleep, his mouth barely open, his eyes closed. When Castiel puts his hand forward, he can feel the warm and cool of Dean’s breath on the back of his hand. Soft.

He wiggles a little closer. Lays his hand on Dean’s chest to feel the shake and rumble of his breathing.

Dean starts awake, his eyes flying open suddenly.He says something, his mouth forming a shape he can’t quite read. He smiles. Waves a little.

Castiel inhales, deeply. He picks up Dean’s hand and lays it over his own chest. Places his own hand next to Dean’s.

He closes his eyes and tries to remember anything, everything he learned such a long time ago. Remembers the shapes when he’s reading lips, the sense memory of those shapes inside of his mouth, the way vibration feels in his own chest and throat.

Castiel opens his mouth and tries to speak, actually speak, for the first time since he was four.

 

Dean’s hand is over Castiel’s chest, and Castiel has shut his eyes, like he is deep in thought. His breath is even and slow, but there is a tense, forced quality to it. Dean just realizes what’s happening as Castiel opens his mouth and utters.

The sound is rough. It is untrained, like it hasn’t been used in years. It is loud in the room. It is nasal. Allmost indecipherable, this sound and these words coming from Castiel, but Dean knows what this is.

“Dean,” Castiel says. The dee is heavy on his tongue, the enn weighted by his tongue against his teeth. “I love you.”

And Dean’s hand curls on Castiel’s chest, nails scraping over the skin. His hand relaxes.

Castiel’s eyes have opened.

He looks as scared as Dean feels.

Dean folds his middle and ring finger downward, pointer finger outward, thumb and pinky extended.

And Castiel’s breath stutters in his chest and he laughs a little bit. Sniffs, crying suddenly.

He returns the sign.

Dean pulls Castiel close, still naked in the bed.

Mutters a million “I love you”s into his skin. Holds him in his old bedsheets and dirty bedroom and early Kansas light. Suddenly thankful that he picked up that shift with the volunteer group. So happy he was at the hospital to have coffee with him, so happy he remembered what he did of sign language.

So happy that he gets have Castiel in his life. That he gets to love him. That Castiel would decide to share himself with Dean- something so intimate as his voice, as his sound. The trust of him.

It’s terrifying. It’s wonderful.

“I love you,” Dean murmurs again. “I love you.”

 

 


End file.
